


scars and thoughtfulness

by maguuma_blues



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars, mostly comfort tbh lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maguuma_blues/pseuds/maguuma_blues
Summary: “Do they hurt?” Jaskier asked one day and—Geralt would never admit it, not in a million years—it caught the witcher by surprise. Out of all the questions he’d been asked about his scars, that was never among them. Did they hurt? Yes, he’d gotten that one quite a few times along with the general questions about how and when each scar originated. Never once, though, had anyone asked if they still hurt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 439





	scars and thoughtfulness

**Author's Note:**

> so. I've found that scars can really hurt, seeing as I have quite a few of my own. When I saw all of Geralt's scars for the first time, the only thing I could think was "dude,,, those must be really painful."

“Do they hurt?” Jaskier asked one day and—Geralt would never admit it, not in a million years—it caught the witcher by surprise. Out of all the questions he’d been asked about his scars, that was never among them. _Did they hurt?_ Yes, he’d gotten that one quite a few times along with the general questions about how and when each scar originated. Never once, though, had anyone asked if they still hurt. 

And he’d never really given it much thought before. They’re scars. They itch when it’s hot, they stretch uncomfortably when it’s cold; it’s just what scars do. After awhile, he’d learned to tune them out. They became nothing more than a dull ache in the background. There was nothing else he could do about it.

He would admit, not easily, that there were some days that were worse for his scars than others. Highly elevated places always had the ability to make some of his worse scars hurt like the day he’d gotten them. Hot weather made certain ones itch and it took all his willpower not to give in and scratch them raw. Armor helped with those days as much as it hindered. Cold weather made them ache, the skin around them tightening uncomfortably. When he was lucky, they wouldn’t hurt at all. He was very rarely lucky. 

The bard must have taken Geralt’s silence for offense, because soon he was apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that must be a terribly invasive question. I just… Well, I know they’re healed now, but they just look… painful. I should’ve held my tongue. I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to answer that.” Jaskier was fidgeting, fingers interlocked with each other, and he avoided Geralt’s gaze. 

And Geralt can’t help the way the corners of his mouth twitch at the irony. Out of all the questions he’d ever received about his scars, this one was the most thoughtful. It made sense, in a way. Jaskier was nothing if not compassionate and kind. “They do.” he offered, and Jaskier’s gaze immediately locked onto his. He looked like a startled deer. 

“I-I’m sorry?” 

“They do.” Geralt repeated. “Some days are worse than others.” 

“They look like they would.” Jaskier mused. “Surely you must have some way of alleviating the pain?”

And that also caught Geralt off guard; he hadn’t really thought about it. That’s a lie, he had thought about it. He’d thought about it, and ultimately decided it would be a waste of time. The pain was bearable and it would be a waste of valuable coin to buy something for pain he could deal with; a luxury. “No,” he said after a while. “I don’t.” 

“And why not?!” Jaskier asked, looking personally affronted. “If they hurt, why don’t you do something about it?” 

“It’s not necessary.” 

“Isn’t it?” the bard pushed. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to go out and see if any of the merchants are selling aloe extract.” 

“Don’t, Jaskier.” Geralt warned. 

“I will. I’m going to. I’ve already made up my mind.” 

“It’s a waste of our coin.” 

“It’s not a waste if it helps you, dear witcher. Just because you can bear the pain doesn’t mean that I can bear the thought of you being in pain.” Jaskier smiled sadly at him. “You deserve better. Ah! Close your mouth, don’t argue with me. You do, whether you deign to believe it or not.”

Geralt sighed. “Goodnight, Jaskier.” he said. 

Jaskier’s smile became a little less sad and a little more triumphant, and Geralt rolled over so he wouldn’t have to deal with the feelings that smile produced. Something warmed in his chest at the thought of Jaskier caring for him. He tried his best to bury it. He failed miserably. 

* * *

Jaskier wound up buying the aloe just like he said he would. It sat in Geralt’s bag for about a week before the bard finally brought it up again, indignant as ever with his feathers visibly ruffled. “It was a waste of coin.” Geralt told him, trying to make a point. 

“The only reason it was a waste is because you’re not using it!” Jaskier bit back. “Sit down and take your shirt off.” he said, and when Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, he huffed. A blush creeped its way onto his face. “Just do it. Go on. I’m waiting.” Jaskier crossed his arms. 

Geralt rolled his eyes, though he did as the bard instructed. He watched, amused, as the bard rifled through his pack and pulled out the aloe. 

“Alright,” the bard said. “Which ones hurt the most?” 

“Jaskier…” Geralt sighed exasperatedly.

“Humor me, please, Geralt.” Jaskier was already putting some of the aloe on his hands. “Unless you just want me to put it on all of them. I can do that too.” 

Geralt would never admit that that idea sounded appealing; he’d sooner take it to his grave. He sighed through his nose, sticking to silence. 

“As helpful as ever. No matter.” Jaskier said, and soon he was rubbing the aloe into one knotted, nasty looking scar on his shoulder. It was relaxing, soothing, and Geralt couldn’t help but hum quietly. 

He half expected Jaskier to break the silence, to ask where all his scars came from, but he didn’t. The bard worked methodically, gently, the only noise made was a quiet hum of a song that Geralt had never heard before. 

“One of your new songs?” he asked, eyes closed and muscles relaxed. 

“Hm? Oh, no. It’s uh… very old, I’m afraid. It’s also not mine.” Jaskier said, seemingly lost in thought. “My mother used to sing it to me when I was very young. I didn’t even realize I was humming it to be quite honest.” 

“Mm.” Geralt grunted. 

“See? This isn’t so bad, right? It wasn’t a waste.” Jaskier said, and Geralt could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Mm.” Geralt repeated. 

“Yes. Quite.” Jaskier pulled his hands away, and Geralt did _not_ mourn their loss, thank you very much. “How’s that? Do they feel any better?” 

They did. They felt a lot better. The scars on his back that had itched something fierce in the heat had quieted and calmed under the soothing aloe. “Hm…” Geralt hummed and Jaskier huffed. 

“At least give me an actual answer, I’d like to know if I should buy more in the future or if I should keep looking for something that will actually help you.” 

Geralt was tempted to lie, to say it didn’t help, but he knew Jaskier would keep looking for things to soothe his pain, and then their coin really would be wasted. “It helped.” he said after a few moments. 

Jaskier beamed, and it did something funny to his heart. “Good! See, I told you that—” and he went on rambling, and Geralt couldn’t help but smile—even if it was slight. He studied the lines of Jaskier’s face as he spoke, the light dusting of freckles on his nose from being out in the sun. The light in his eyes as he spoke animatedly about everything and yet nothing, about how right he was. The curve of his lips, the way they formed words, how they were upturned with a smile— 

_Dangerous thoughts._ His mind informed him. _Dangerous observations._

“Geralt? Are you even listening to me?” Jaskier asked. 

“Mm.” Is all Geralt offered. 

* * *

This became something of a routine for the two of them, Geralt noticed. The more it happened, the more the air clouded with things unsaid and tension. It came to a head, one day, when Jaskier was a bit more flushed than normal afterwards, when Geralt could hear his heart racing, and he seemed to want nothing more than to escape the room. 

“Where are you going?” Geralt asked. 

“I-I… I just need some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Jaskier said, and Geralt tilted his head to the side. 

“You’re nervous.” he mused. 

“N-No, I’m—” 

“What’s wrong?” the witcher pushed on. 

“I…” Jaskier’s shoulders slumped, defeated. “You have to know, Geralt. Don’t make me say it.” 

Geralt stood up from the bed, feeling a bit stiff and sticky from the aloe. He got close to Jaskier, and the bard swallowed audibly. “What is it?” 

“I can’t keep doing this for you. I’m sorry.” Jaskier looked down, trembling with nerves. 

“Why?” 

“It’s not… right of me.” the bard sounded distraught, and something like a stone settled in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. 

“I see.” is all he offered. “Go, then.” 

“It’s not for what you’re probably thinking,” Jaskier got out quickly. “It’s not because you’re a witcher or whatever is going through your mind right now. I’m not… This isn’t fair to you. I’m taking advantage. I can’t keep doing this. It's so horribly selfish and I meant it when I said you deserve better.” 

Things suddenly clicked in Geralt’s head and he hummed. “I think I understand.” 

“Ah… Do you? Then I’ll go. If you’re upset with me, you have every right to be, I’m sorry.” Jaskier let out a shaky breath, which hitched when Geralt tilted his chin up with a curved knuckle. “Geralt?” 

“Hm…” Geralt hummed again, and pulled him in for a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. :)


End file.
